Life is Like a Box of Chocolates
by brownpaperbags
Summary: Short story within the Trust of the King story arc. Awen faces a difficult choice: does she leave the world she's known behind and stay with the man she loves or does she remain with her people and risk losing him forever? When the choice is between love and family there is no easy answer. And sometimes there is no answer at all.
1. To Be or Not to Be

**Author's Note: **_Hellooooo loyal readers, new readers, and the inbetweeners. This is part of the _Trust of the King _story arc and in this case I would highly recommend reading that before reading this short little story. Many of you asked for me to write a story telling how Awen chose to leave her home and her farewell to Nan. Well, wait no more folks! It is here! I expect this story to be about three to four chapters long…quite short considering the length of its father story. It will have a great deal of Merlin and Awen cuteness, Nan's dry humor, and even a bit of friendship building for Awen and Arthur. Anyways, here comes Chapter 1 and since today is Labor Day and I have neither work nor school it is probable I will finish this and have a chance to work on _Aftershocks _today. Anyways, please read and REVIEW!_

Choices. Life is full of them and they are often so miniscule that people hardly even realize they have made them. The choice of what to eat for breakfast, what to wear that day, which farmer's eggs to purchase at the market. Humanity makes these decisions on an almost constant basis with little to no effect on their lives.

Some choices, however, hover over our minds like shadowy behemoths, casting doubt and insecurity on the aspects of our lives that had previously been strong and stable. These choices often serve as an encore for some life-changing event and can rarely be looked at with a detached, scientific eye. Human beings are emotional creatures and for this reason fate seems to have taken an uncanny interest in them, taking pity one moment and revenge the next. Such choices are never easy because they hold the possibility of failure and rejection and though possibilities of success and acceptance are equal outcomes of these choices, we have eyes only for that which raises terror in our hearts. We freeze as if remaining motionless will blind fate to our presence and she will move on, seeking other prey.

Life, however, does not bow to the ebb and flow of human fancy and continues on no matter how obdurate we remain. It forces a decision upon us, usually the path we would have been least inclined to travel. Perhaps it attempts to teach us a lesson so that we may react more productively in the future, but even wise teachings can be ignored if wanted. Staying still is not an option in the bustle and grind of the mortal coil, though this does nothing to discourage people from trying. Choices are choices, big or small, and must be made one way or the other.

Awen was facing a choice of her own and no matter which path she chose it left an ache in heart so strong it brought her to tears. There is no other choice as difficult as family and love and Awen knew that no matter what decision she made she would be losing an aspect of her life she loved dearly.

Merlin, the warlock she had somehow fallen in love with, would be leaving with his king to return to the mortal world. The man had not been able to give her an exact date, having been recovering from a near death experience, but could tell her with absolute certainty that their departure from her world would be within a week.

She had begged him to reconsider, of course. She had known, even then, that Merlin's decision would not change but still felt the urge to try.

"You aren't ready," she had told him. "You went through a great deal, Merlin. Rest and recover. I am sure Arthur can get along without you for a while."

"I wish I could," the warlock had replied, shaking his head. "I love being with you Awen, I do, but…my loyalty lies with Arthur. I cannot forsake my oath to him, especially now. So much has changed for him this past week and as the instigator of these changes I can't leave him to face them alone. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she had said quietly. "I understand, but it doesn't make me want you to stay any less."

"I know," the young man whispered, smiling sadly. "Life never works out quite the way we expected to, does it?"

She had not answered afraid she would give in to the tears she felt moistening her eyes. She'd been so damn teary lately and couldn't remember a time in her life when she'd been that prone to weeping. If love delighted in denying her what she felt and made her cry all the time she didn't think she liked it one bit.

The young warlock had a soul-crippling nightmare that night, screaming himself hoarse before Awen could finally rouse him from his terror. She had sat with him, cradling his head on her chest, trying to sooth the man's tortured thoughts. He had shaken uncontrollably within her grasp and for the first time, but certainly not the last, she had sung him back into sleep. She had chosen a lullaby her mother had crooned at her as a child, the language of her people falling silky and comforting from her lips.

She willed her power into the words and felt the young man's erratic, terrorized heart beat as it slowed to a steady rhythm in his chest. His breathing eased and his eyes lost the sheen of pure terror and desperation that Awen often saw on animals when caught by whatever predators hunted them.

She had discovered the third and final gift she had been handed as a priestess of the Blessed Way only a day earlier and found that it came easier to her than any of the others. She had always been able to sense the emotions of others, which could be a blessing or a curse depending on the day. There were moments when an emotion would be so overpowering that she would have to shut her mind to keep from passing out.

Her newfound ability was similar to this gift, but instead of sensing the emotions of others she could influence them to a degree. She discovered that she could sooth and calm with a word, noting that such a gift would be of great use to her as a healer. It had already come in handy a great deal with the warlock she had fallen in love with and it was this moment Awen had first considered accompanying the warlock home.

The idea had continued to nag at her all through the night and though she dozed sporadically throughout the early morning hours she woke up as exhausted as Merlin. She watched wearily from the bed as the young man pushed himself and crossed the room, grass shifting shades of color beneath his feet as he walked. He stared at himself in the mirror for a long moment fingering the bruise-like shadows beneath his eyes, grimacing as if their presence angered him. His hair, tousled from sleep, stuck up slightly in the back before splaying out in a crazy mass of shadow black locks. His frown deepened as his fingers disappeared from his face and reappeared on the last remaining patch of intricate black lines in the hollow of his throat. He pushed at it with a single finger, sticking his tongue out at his reflection when it didn't disappear.

"What are you doing," Awen asked, amused.

"I look like a corpse," he said, turning to face her with a disgruntled sigh. "An emaciated, smelly corpse."

"I don't think you're smelly," Awen replied, the tiniest of smiles quirking her lips.

"Awen," Merlin said, pursing his lips. "I haven't had a bath in over a week. I doubt I smell like a bed of roses."

"Well," Awen said, hesitating for a moment. "That isn't entirely true, Merlin."

"What?"

"You had a bath," Awen answered, heat rising in her cheeks.

"Oh, God," the young man stammered, cheeks attempting to pale and blush at the same time. "When was this?"

"When you first arrived," Awen said sheepishly. "You were covered in blood and grime, Merlin. Nan couldn't even tell where your wound was and—"

"Nan," Merlin gasped in horror. "Nan gave me a bath! She saw me—"

"Would you rather it have been Arthur," Awen interrupted, raising her eyebrows pointedly.

Merlin's eyes widened and he shook his head forcefully. He seemed lost for words and Awen couldn't help but be amused. He came and sat back down on the bed and rested his head in his hands.

"At least you are clean," the young woman began, but stopped at the horrified look Merlin had on his face.

"I am so embarrassed," he moaned.

"Just pretend I never told you," Awen whispered, running her fingers down his back, tracing the shiny pink scars that marred his skin, evidence of the griffin's attack sketched into ragged lines as long as her forearm. "But I still maintain my observation that you are in no way smelly."

"Well," he said softly. "That's something I guess."

"Merlin," Awen whispered. "About you leaving—"

"Awen," Merlin said, voice pained. "I already told you that I can't stay. Please don't make this harder than it is."

"I wasn't going to ask you to stay," Awen said irritably.

"Oh," came the young man's soft reply. "What were you going to say then?"

"Are you going to let me speak this time?"

"Yes, I promise to give you my undivided attention."

"Well, I know you have to leave, but…what if I came with you?"

Merlin stared at her, stunned. He looked like he'd had the air knocked out of him and Awen almost felt the need to remind him to breathe, but before she could say the words he took a large breath and turned to study his reflection in the mirror once more. He almost instantly turned back to her, obviously disgusted with what he saw staring back at him. This time he was smiling, though it was a timid thing as if reluctant to make its presence fully known for fear of deceit.

"You would do that," he asked, studying her with unreadable eyes. "You would leave home for me?"

"I haven't quite decided yet," she replied honestly. "It isn't a decision to rush into, is it?"

"No," Merlin whispered. "It isn't. Nor would I ask that of you, Awen."

"Would you like it though?"

"I…I would be very happy, Awen. If that is what you choose, of course."

"Happy? You sound as if you are convincing yourself, Merlin."

"No," Merlin replied, horrified. "No, you misunderstand. Awen, if you were to come back to Camelot with me I would feel complete for the first time in my life. Like all the pieces of my life fit perfectly. My connection with you is…well, it's a power in and of itself."

"That was a bit more believable than happy," Awen smiled. "Why didn't you say that the first time?"

"I didn't want to influence your choice," Merlin shrugged. "I would never forgive myself if I unknowingly forced you into something you didn't really want, Awen."

"I want you," Awen replied. "And you certainly didn't force me into that, Myrddin."

"What did you just call me?"

"Myrddin? It's your name, silly. In our tongue at least."

"Myrddin," the warlock said, testing the feel of it on his tongue. "I like it, though it may have to contend with some of my other more prominent titles. With the way I collect identities I am liable to answer to anything by the end."

"They are just names, Myrddin. They are meaningless without the man behind them. Its you and you alone that gives them power."

"I have half a mind to call you wise," Merlin said, smiling slightly. "But, I have a feeling you heard this before."

"Nan said it to me once," Awen said with a laugh. "I was pitching a fit at everyone calling me Blessed One all the time. They stopped soon after our discussion, but I am sure Nan had something to do with that."

"Would Nan come with you," Merlin asked suddenly.

"No," Awen whispered, sobering immediately. "She has a duty here and she is too old to see the lands beyond."

"And you? What about your duty, Awen?"

"I have been thinking about that a lot, actually. Nan's duty is to her own people, but mine…well, its universal, isn't it? As long as I am healing somewhere I am fulfilling my calling. Besides, the mortal world could use my gifts far more than my people can. We are known for our healing magic, Merlin. Mine just comes with a few added perks and a slight kick to it."

"It sounds as if you've already made up your mind," Merlin whispered, staring at her from beneath his lashes, expression both hopeful and insecure.

"I am leaning in a certain direction, true enough. But, there are other things to take into consideration before I make the final choice. I just wanted to see what your feelings on the matter are."

"I want you by my side, Awen. I want it more than anything, but I would hate to see you have to sacrifice something so dear to you in the process."

"Sacrifice is a part of life, my Myrddin. You cannot have everything your heart desires all at once, you know."

"I am well versed in that," the young man said, a bittersweet smile curving the edges of his lips.

She kissed the bitterness from his lips and he shuddered slightly, fighting the urge to flinch away from her touch. He pulled back a bit and Awen felt disappointment settle in her belly, but he only tucked a strand of her auburn hair behind her ear and joined her mouth with his once more.

When he pulled back a moment later, he had his eyes closed, but the bittersweet smile had been replaced with his trademark grin.

"I think I finally understand what Arthur meant," he said softly, tracing the sweeping green runes on her arms.

"About?"

"About love," he murmured. "He can be quite the poet when he wants to be, you know. A true deep thinker; maybe even bordering on a philanthropist, but don't tell him that or he's like to run you through with his sword. You know…because you insulted his manly and heroic reputation or something."

"Well, we wouldn't want that, now would we? I'm practically shaking in my boots, Myrddin."

"You don't wear boots," Merlin said sleepily, the day already taking its toll on him though it had just begun. "I don't think you wear shoes at all. Which is silly if you think about it. What happens if you get a splinter or step on a snake? There would be no protection for your toes and you need your toes, Awen. Or maybe you don't, I don't know. You aren't human and maybe you have them for…decoration purposes or something. Though I think it would be odd to not need toes, don't you? They really are very important, which is why you should wear shoes, but you don't. Perhaps no one has taught you to make shoes yet. Do you know how to make shoes, Awen? I am not saying I know how to make shoes because I don't so I guess it doesn't really matter if you know how to or not, does it? Its not like a shoe maker would ever be able to visit and even if he did you have probably gone so long without shoes that you wouldn't even want to wear them and his whole trip would be a wasted effort. But, your toes are still important and snakes can be very clever, you know. They like to bite things and feet are excellent fang candidates. Perhaps you could make a sort of impenetrable sock that keeps your feet safe, but at that point you might as well get shoes which you won't do because—"

God, she loved this man. If she didn't stop him he would ramble himself to sleep and she was half inclined to let him. He was extremely amusing during his semi-conscious state and Awen had the feeling that the man who made an appearance during this time was the Merlin he would be once he healed from his psychological torment. She hoped so because it was moments like this that she felt her love for him grow.

"Merlin," Awen said gently, stopping the man mid rant. "You're babbling, again."

"I know," he sighed, sleep slurring his words. "But, shoes, Awen. You really need to…invest…in…shoes…"

The warlock's breathing slowed and she kissed his forehead. He smiled in his sleep and she felt reasonably sure he would have no visits from the shadow world in his dreams for the time being.

There was another man's opinion that mattered a great deal in her decision, though she suspected the king would not be nearly as shocked as her Myrddin had been. She liked him for reasons she could not discern right away, but the sisterly surge of affection grew every time she spoke with the man.

She had already known Arthur had the capacity to think well beyond the battlefield and she hoped that he would be of help to her in her future path. Either way, Arthur would not deceive her and it was ultimately his decision that would make or break her plans.

After all, she was a creature of magic and she knew that magic and the king had not always gotten along. She knew for a fact that the king was teetering on his beliefs, but the odds hadn't exactly shifted in her favor yet. If Arthur refused to allow her entrance into Camelot the decision would be made for her and that was that. Perhaps if Merlin had not been tortured by a ghostly replica of his friend he might have spoken up against any resistance Arthur might have shown, but as it was the young warlock could barely stand to be in the same room as the man let alone stand up to him with any real gusto.

She severely doubted, however, that Arthur would be unfair in his ruling. She also doubted that the king would deny his servant anything at the moment, unless it caused harm to his people in some way, but both of them knew Merlin would never make such a request.

She cast one more longing look at the slumbering figure of her warlock then closed the door softly behind her and slowly made her way towards the king who could ultimately decide her fate.


	2. I'm BugEyed Crazy for You

When Awen came to visit him Arthur was furiously fighting a losing battle with a particularly determined snag in his gold tinted hair. He couldn't quite make out what the snag was, but it stuck a small clump of his hair together quite efficiently.

The king had been prepared to wage all out war on the little clump of defiance, but was stopped from doing something he might later regret by a soft rapping of knuckles on his door.

"Come in," he snapped, throwing his weapon of choice, the comb, to the small wooden table in his room.

"Problems," Awen asked softly, shooting him a bemused glance as she edged into the hut.

"No," Arthur sighed. "I have a clump."

"I'm sorry, a what?"

"A clump, Awen. A snag…in my hair, see?"

"Yes, I see," Awen said, trying to hide her smile. "It looks like an awfully cheeky fellow to be sure. Would you like me to remove it?"

"Don't patronize me," Arthur warned with a smile to soften the word's edges. "And, I think I can manage on my own, thank you."

"Is this a manly, heroic pride thing?"

"What?"

"Merlin said you had a manly, heroic pride thing."

"Don't believe a word he says," Arthur laughed. "Though in this case he might be right, but don't tell him that. He'll go on and on about if for weeks, months even if he takes a fancy to it."

He picked up the comb again and with a growl ran it roughly through his hair, jerking it back and forth when the teeth met the snag's impenetrable defense. She watched him, amused, as he jerked the comb back and forth, which, of course, only tangled the locks even more.

"Damn clump," he snarled beneath his breath. "There will be nothing left of you by the time I'm done."

"I don't think the clump is particularly concerned with your threat, Arthur. In fact, you are falling into its trap as we speak."

"What," Arthur asked, pausing in his attack to look at her strangely. "There's a trap?"

"Here," Awen said gently, taking the comb from his hands. "You are only making it worse. You are likely to tear out all the hair in your head if you keep at it."

"That was my plan all along," the king sniffed, wincing as Awen's deft hands began to untangle the snag. "No hair, no clump. See? Brilliance."

She laughed throatily while working his hair. She suddenly gasped, snorted, then pulled whatever was snagged in his hair and held it up to him in amusement.

"A bug," Arthur swallowed, looking at the rather alarming insect. It had been pulverized significantly by the comb and Arthur couldn't even make out what it had been previously, but it didn't stop him from grimacing. "That was in my hair? How did it get in my hair?"

"Oh, the possibilities are endless," Awen teased the man. "Perhaps it thought you were a flower, Arthur."

"Funny," Arthur commented drily. "Tell me, Awen, have you considered life as a fool with your scathing wit? Kings and queens from all over the world would line up to witness your brilliance."

"I could ask the same of you, Arthur. Or should I call you the Insect King now. I think it fits you perfectly."

"Good lord," the king muttered. "It's like dealing with a prettier, accident proof Merlin."

"A compliment I will take gladly," the Fair Folk woman laughed.

"Oh, you'll reconsider that statement soon enough. The man is a genius at finding ways to insult you. There are times where I don't even know he's done it until hours later which only supplies him with more ammunition."

"And yet you smile as you say it," Awen said. "Somehow I don't think you mind it all that much."

"No," Arthur admitted. "If anything I find it comforting in a way." He stopped, pensive, but continued when she smiled encouragingly at him. "It's…it's a constant in my life, Awen. He's a constant. People always want something from me and they will go about getting it any way they can. There are very few people in my life I can take at their word and even less I can count on to question me on my actions. It's tiring and it's lonely."

"Merlin doesn't treat me like a king or a knight. He treats me like a man and that, more than anything else, is responsible for the relationship we share. He and I couldn't be more different, a fact that has never been more apparent to me than now. But, despite that, I find the thought of life without him unthinkable. He's real when nothing else is. He was the first to challenge me to stop pretending to be the next King of Camelot and actually be one."

The young man smiled fondly, but frowned shortly after, shaking his head. Spell broken, he turned away from her and began to throw wood on the dimming fire, movements rough and jerky.

"Arthur," Awen whispered. "What's wrong?"

For a long moment Arthur didn't answer. He wanted to desperately, but his inner pride was a stone-wall that was difficult to scale. Awen was different though, wasn't she? She owed him no loyalty and had sworn him no fealty.

"He doesn't trust me," Arthur said softly, keeping his back turned to her lest she see the emotion on his face. "He's terrified of me, Awen. And some dark part of me is inclined to keep it that way."

"Arthur." Awen gasped, disbelief written starkly across her pale features. "Why would you want that?"

"He lied to me, Awen. For years he has lied to me. What am I supposed to make of that?"

"Take it for what it is, Arthur. You know he never wanted to betray your trust…you must know that."

"I know," Arthur said hoarsely. "But wanting and doing are two different things, aren't they? Regardless of the reasons I am left with a friend unwilling to share a part of himself with me. Because that's what it is, you know. I understand enough about his magic to know that it's not just a hobby he picked up one day. It's a part of him, a large part of him in fact, and he hid it from me."

"You feel betrayed," Awen ventured, unwilling to open her mind to the distraught king so she could see for herself.

"Yes, no, I don't know," Arthur sighed. "He didn't betray me, really. His loyalty to me never wavered which I know must have been difficult. I've thought of things I've said to him over the years. Awen. Horrible, awful things that I would have never said had I known what he was. Which only makes the way I feel even more confusing. As I think back I recognize moments he might have been about to tell me, but I ruined it by informing him of my renewed hatred of anything magical. Would I want to share a something that personal and that important to me to someone who had, moments before, informed me that they hated it? I don't think so."

He laughed bitterly, running a shaking hand through his now bug free hair. Awen could see that the young king had a lot on his mind and she would have to wait to ask her question until he'd gotten it out of his system.

"He didn't betray me," Arthur continued. "I can say that for sure, but he did hurt me, Awen. I find myself questioning every word he says which only makes me feel guilty, but I shouldn't right? I mean, he lied to me thousands of times, didn't he? If he can't trust me then why should I have to feel guilty about not trusting him?"

"And then," Arthur ranted. "He wants me to change the laws regarding magic when we return home and I don't know what to tell him. Merlin has never really understood the politics that go into being a king, but why should he? That's not his burden to bear and I can't begrudge him that. But…changing laws is not as easy as it seems, especially when it's something like magic. The mere mentioning of it endangers him, but he doesn't get that. He doesn't understand that he'll be accused of enchanting me unless I figure out a way to insulate him from the backlash, but I can't do that because I have nothing to insulate him with."

"I don't know him at all, Awen. He's my best friend and I barely know a thing about him. Everything I thought I knew was based on lies and it's almost impossible to shift through the memories and decipher which moments were real and which were not. And if I don't know him how can I protect him? I can't and it infuriates me and only makes me furious with Merlin for putting me in this position. All I want to do is protect him, Awen. But who is it that I'm putting my neck on the line for? Is it Merlin the servant or Merlin the warlock?"

"How about Merlin the friend," Awen said softly.

Arthur looked at her for a long time after the words had left her lips and she wondered if she'd overstepped her boundaries. She didn't break the silence, however, and felt herself fidgeting nervously as the quiet stretched to uncomfortable lengths.

"Merlin the friend," the king finally whispered, smiling slightly. "It's better than nothing, I suppose. A place to start at least."

"Finding a starting point is half the battle," Awen replied. "Have you thought about talking to him about all of this, Arthur? I'm sure he'd be willing to—"

"No," the king interrupted. "I can't stand the way he looks at me, Awen. He follows every move I make, did you know that? I don't think he's even aware he's doing it, but he is and it hurts. I move a little too quickly and he flinches. I get close to touching him and he jerks back like I've hit him."

"He said that you two had been doing better," Awen frowned.

"Sure," Arthur said, grimacing bitterly. "As long as we stick to the superficial bickering we do alright, but the moment that ends I'm Arthur the monster once more."

"Arthur," Awen scolded. "Merlin doesn't think you are a monster."

"Maybe not consciously," the king muttered. "But sometimes he looks at me as if I am. Which might be better than the emotionless mask he puts up when I'm around, but I haven't decided yet."

"He'll come around," Awen said encouragingly. "You have to know that, Arthur."

"Tell me that when it's your name he's screaming during nightmares, Awen. I've heard him, you know. He pleads for me to stop hurting him and the thing is I can't tell him it's only a dream because it wasn't. He lived it, didn't he. It becomes rather difficult to comfort a man when you are the very reason for his terror."

"Arthur Pendragon," Awen suddenly snapped. "You don't even realize how much he loves you, do you? You are so caught up in your self pity that you can't even see that he's already made his choice to remain at your side, regardless of what he's been through."

"But—"

"No, Arthur. The darkness used his connection to you for a reason, don't you see? You are the most important and influential person in his life even if you are blind to that. You say that you don't know him, but that isn't true. You do know him…you just don't know the events in his life that made him the person that he is now. There is a big difference in the two. Merlin may flinch away from you, but his loyalty to you is unchanged, Arthur. I doubt there is anything that can change that. Heaven knows I tried."

"What," Arthur gasped, appalled. "Why would you do that?"

"I love him," Awen replied simply. "I asked him to stay with me and he refused."

"He refused," Arthur repeated softly. "Did he say why?"

"Yes, but I think you already know the reason."

"Humor me then."

She shook her head, studying him with a knowing smile on her lips.

"Me," Arthur whispered. "He didn't want to go back because of his oath of fealty to me."

"Close, but not a game winning guess I'm afraid," Awen replied, rolling her eyes. "He did refuse me because of you, silly king, but not because he felt honor bound by some stupid oath of fealty. The only oath of fealty that matters to him is the one we normal folks call friendship. Perhaps you've heard of it?"

"I think I've come across the term once or twice," Arthur replied with a soft smile. "What am I supposed to do, Awen? How can I fix this pit that stands between us?"

"Talk to him when the time is right," Awen answered, her voice soft. "If you go about it the right way he'll be a lot more receptive than you think he will. Just don't get angry, Arthur. Stay as far away from anger as you possibly can."

"And then?"

"Then you take it one step at a time," the Fair Folk woman whispered. "How does that mortal saying go? Ah, yes, Rome wasn't built in a day."

"The Romans haven't stepped foot in our lands in a long time, Awen."

"And this changes the meaning of the saying, how exactly?"

"It doesn't," Arthur said, chagrined. "I'm just saying."

"As fascinating as your history lessons are, Arthur, I am trying to teach you something you can't learn in a book. Trust is a difficult thing to understand even if it may seem simple. You two have a lot to work on in that area, I won't mislead you there, but it is something that no one else can fix for you. This is your road to travel and its up to you to decide how you go about it. Merlin wants to travel that road for you, Arthur. The question is…do you?"

"Yes," Arthur replied without hesitation. "We've come too far to lose everything now. I need him by my side because…well, that's where he's always been."

"Then make it happen," Awen said gruffly.

Arthur smiled and ran a hand through his hair again, pausing to wipe the debugged area with the palm of his hand.

"Disgusting," he muttered again. "Why couldn't it be a twig or something? It just had to be a bug."

"Cheer up, Arthur. I'm sure there are worse places a bug could end up than in your hair. Nan swallowed one once. Of course, when I informed her of her involuntary meal she told me that such a thing was perfectly normal, healthy even. I saw her gag though she won't admit it. I'm going to miss her if I choose to leave."

"What," Arthur blurted. "Leave?"

"Oh," Awen said, proud of her rather genius introduction to the idea. "Merlin hasn't told you? I am thinking of leaving with you to Camelot."

"He certainly has not mentioned this to me," the king grumbled. "Though it explains why you aren't more broken up over his decision to return with me."

"Of course," Awen said slyly. "He said that you would have to approve it. He told me he wouldn't dream of doing something that didn't you didn't support in its entirety."

"No he didn't," Arthur said drily. "If you are going to lie at least come up with something more convincing than Merlin caring one bit about what I approve of."

"You can't blame me for trying," Awen laughed. "And while I am fessing up to past crimes I may as well inform you that I only sprung the idea on Merlin before I came to see you. He's completely innocent."

"For once," Arthur muttered, amused. "Are you really considering leaving?"

"More than considering," Awen answered seriously. "I know its sudden, but then our whole relationship has been sudden. It only seems prudent to continue along in the fashion we started in."

"And you are asking me because…?"

"Well, it's your kingdom isn't it? And I'm not exactly human, am I? From what I understand there seems to be a rather large prejudice against those of magical persuasion in Camelot. I would hate to cause waves, Arthur."

"We could make up a reasonable story," Arthur replied. "At least until we figure out what we are going to do about that giant prejudice."

"Are you saying yes?"

"Perhaps, but I have a couple of questions to ask you first."

"Ask away, Arthur. I am an open book."

"Sure," Arthur replied, grinning. "Do you love him?"

"What?"

"Answer the question, Awen. Do you love him?"

"Why would I be asking to leave if I—"

"Awen."

"Yes?"

"Answer the question please."

"With all my heart, Arthur."

"Better. Would you ever betray his trust?"

"Not a chance. I would rather die than hurt him."

"Would you?"

"Would I what?"

"Die for him. Would you die for him, Awen?"

"Without hesitation."

"You have my approval," he said, sinking back into the chair by the fire.

"Just like that?"

"Just like that," the king replied. "I considered performing the full inquisition, but decided against it in the end."

"Why?"

"Why did I decide against it?"

"Yes, as interrogations go it wasn't very thorough."

"I found out all I needed to know, Awen."

"Which was?"

"You said you'd die for him," Arthur answered, voice rough. "That means you and I have something in common."


	3. Love is a Battlefield

Long before Rhiannon had become Nan she had dreamed of having a little girl of her own. She had spent hours imagining what her child might look like and whether she would be more like her mother or her father, whoever had struck her fancy filling the paternal role quite nicely.

She had never imagined, of course, that she would be barren. Such a thing was almost unheard of among the Fair Folk and for a long time Nan had felt nothing but shame at her inability to carry out the sacred duty that belonged entirely to women. Her husband had never once blamed her for her blight and had remained a strong and shining star she could lean on. She had hoped, of course, that she might one day make a miraculous recovery and the child she'd always wished for would cease being a forsaken dream.

As the years went by Rhiannon found herself losing hope despite her husband's efforts to keep her spirits up. She caught herself looking longingly at mothers holding their children close to them or smiling good-naturedly as the little ones romped around like savages. Her heart burned with need, but the fires would not and could not be quenched.

She had almost surrendered to despair when she suddenly had the chance to be what she'd always wanted to be. It was no secret that the forests beyond the magical barrier were a dangerous place and to wonder into it was never wise. It didn't stop her people from trying especially when they were out to prove themselves as worthy Shadow Warriors. Many of those who ventured into the forest's dark depths never returned.

Such was the case of the orphaned little girl Rhiannon took under her wing. The child was already family for the Fair Folk that had disappeared within the forests had been her sister and the brother she'd gained upon their union. The pain of losing ones she loved was tempered only by her joy at gaining a child. For a long time the child was all sullen silences and fearful tears, but Rhiannon was patient and nursed the little duckling back into sunny smiles and ringing laughter. Vala, as her mother had named her, grew into a beautiful woman of incredible strength and kindness. Nan puffed with pride much like a hen does with indignation at having her eggs stolen from beneath her feet.

Vala was a coveted woman, to be sure. She drew the eye of men and women alike, but only one man had caught her heart. He was a Shadow Warrior, as handsome as he was kind and he loved Vala with everything he had. His lilac eyes were an anomaly among the Fair Folk and she often mused that he was her purple eyed god. He had joked with her that he would fly to the stars and bring her back the moon, but Nan felt sure that the young man would have really done it if such a thing were in his power.

They had married in a fit of passion, but unlike many rash unions they had never been happier. His name had been Dafydd and Vala had spoken it like a prayer, giddy with youth and love. All to often, however, youth is quickly replaced with an age only grief can cause. On a dark, wind swept day Vala, six months pregnant, learned that her beloved Dafydd would walk the path of Shadow no longer. He had died valiantly while saving the life of a young child who had fallen into the rain swift waters of the river Gethin.

Vala had been devastated and threw herself into her job as a healer in an attempt to numb the pain of her loss. When Awen had been born she'd had the eyes of her father and Vala had gained a renewed sense of life, taking the child's lilac gaze as a sign from her long lost love.

Awen had been as beautiful as her mother and had flourished in a similar fashion. She was a bright sun among her people and her sharp tongue brought gales of laughter from all who spoke to her. She was surrounded by love and warmth, as every child should be.

Vala's death came as a shock to both of them. The woman had become ill so suddenly there had been little that could have been done. Despite their best efforts, Vala joined her husband in the afterlife, leaving a stunned Awen behind. Nan, no stranger to grief, pushed her feelings aside in order to help the child she was suddenly responsible for.

Nan's own husband had acted as a father to the child and though he had since passed Awen still called him Papa. They had fallen into a routine of sorts when Awen discovered who and what she was. Suddenly, their lives were not their own and the young woman had been terrified by the expectations her people had of her.

Nan had began to wonder if her granddaughter would ever rise to meet her destiny, but then the warlock had come barreling into their lives. Awen had felt an instant connection with the deathly ill young man and Nan felt sure that if anyone was to give Awen the push she needed it would be him. The young woman had risen to the occasion quite beautifully, despite her initial trepidation.

Nan had never been more proud of her grandchild, but she was also saddened for she knew that Awen teetered on the edge of a different path than the one Nan was currently on. The woman was no longer a child and Nan had known that Awen was leaving long before Awen knew herself. After all, every child leaves eventually. That is what a parent works for in the end.

When Awen had finally made her way back home, after days at the warlock's side, Nan steeled herself for the moment her granddaughter informed her of what she already knew. It had not taken long.

"Nan," the girl said softly. "Have you ever thought about leaving Eryr Cadw?"

"I cannot say that it hasn't crossed my mind once or twice," the old woman replied. "But, I have never felt the urge strongly enough to really consider it…but then I never had a reason to leave, did I? You, my dear, have a very good reason."

"Nan," Awen gasped, amazed. "How did you—"

"Please," Nan snorted. "Child, you may not realize it, but I know a good deal about what goes on in that head of yours. Call it a parent's intuition if you must, but we wouldn't last one minute if we did not have the ability to understand the inner workings of our children's minds."

"A devil," Awen laughed. "That's what you are. How many times have you pretended not to notice me being less than truthful, Nan?"

"A great deal," Nan chuckled. "I just let you think otherwise, my dear. A woman should be allowed some secrets, after all."

The young woman laughed, but when her giggles petered off they were left in uncertain silence.

"This is big," Awen whispered after a moment. "Almost too big, I think."

"What does your heart tell you?"

"Nan, you know I find that mushy heart stuff incredibly silly."

"Silly or not, I'm asking," Nan sniffed. "If you find it too degrading for a woman of such sophistication to handle then go bother someone else."

"I would miss you terribly," the woman said in reply. "I would miss Eyry Cadw terribly to."

"There is no question about that," Nan said quietly. "It is in our nature to love the things that we know and understand, child. Just as it is in our nature to fear that which we do not. The question is not whether you will miss it, but will you miss it enough to keep you from what you really want?"

"I don't know," Awen whispered. "I don't know what I want, Nan."

"Nonsense," Nan snapped. "Use the brains the gods saw fit to give you and stop offending them by acting silly. What do you want, child? It is not a hard question."

"I want Merlin," Awen said automatically. "I'm just afraid of what that means, I think."

"Ah," Nan said knowingly. "There is part of the problem we are truly dealing with. None of that other rubbish from now on, you hear? If you are going to discuss this with me then we will do so without fooling ourselves into believing that it's something its not. We'll never get anywhere that way, which, you know, is the reason mortals are so awful at conflict resolution."

"What are you talking about, Nan?"

"Mortals spend the majority of their time hiding behind the issues nobody gives a good golly damn about, but refuse to deal with the great pile of horse manure piling up in front of them. Sooner or later the pile becomes too large to ignore and it's suddenly a battle of wills on whose duty it is to clean the figurative pile of dung off their sparkling, squeaky shoes . Before you know it they are at each other's throats fighting a damn war over the manure when it could have been cleaned up quick as you please from the very beginning. Ridiculous, I think."

"Nan," Awen grinned. "I think the only ridiculous one here is you. You've never been to the mortal world. How do you know how they handle things?"

"Stories are an echo of the past, my dear. They may be catalogued as works of fiction, but somewhere within those pages is a truth about humanity that is relentless in its honesty." Suddenly, the old woman threw her hands up in disgust. "Ach, child! This is what I'm talking about, don't you see? We are discussing things that don't really matter instead of biting into the meat of the issue. Rubbish, I say."

"Then tell me what to do," Awen implored, disheartened at her grandmother's shake of her head.

"This is not my path," the old woman said. "This is a choice you must make on your own, my dear. My only purpose is to guide you through your thoughts. The end decision is up to you."

"I love him, Nan. There is no doubt about that, but I'm afraid it won't last."

"Why wouldn't it?"

"Well, it happened so quickly, didn't it?"

"Did it?"

"Nan, you can stop being a pain anytime now."

"Of course it was quick, but what does that matter? Does it change the way you feel at all?"

"No, but…how do I know its real?"

"Can you see yourself without him, Awen? Can you picture yourself being happy with anyone else?"

"No."

"Then it is real enough, child. As wonderful as that is, however, you are still ignoring the real problem. That figurative pile of horse manure is growing as we speak."

"What am I ignoring Nan? I don't understand."

"Child," the old woman said gently. "There is no question that you would miss me terribly and though I appreciate the sentiment it is not what is holding you back. No more than your ridiculous insinuation that your feelings are nothing more than a flight of fancy. You love him, Awen. That is a question that no longer needs answering. The question I have is why you are hesitating when you have a world of adventure and love being offered to you on a silver platter?"

"What if I'm not good enough for him," Awen asked quietly. "What if he stops loving me and I've given him everything I had? What am I supposed to do then, Nan?"

"There it is," Nan whispered.

"What?"

"There's that fear again, Awen. A fear of rejection is no easy mountain to climb, my love, but climb it you must. The young warlock is a good man and you should know this better than any one. He shares a connection with you the likes of which I have heard of only once before."

"You've heard of this before, Nan? When? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I just did, didn't I? Now hush and listen. You remember the story of the moon and the sun, don't you?"

"Yes, but Nan that is just a story—"

"I've already told you, Awen. Stories are echoes of the past and the tale of sun and moon is a perfect example. We use things of great beauty to add meaning to the legends from our past because they are dear to us and hold a great amount of power in their telling. In this case, child, the sun was a man and the moon was the woman he loved."

"I know the story, Nan. The sun and the moon fell madly in love, but were cursed to spend their lives a part from each other when Earth became jealous. The sun would barely catch a glimpse of the woman he loved before he was gone from the sky. It isn't a very happy story, grandmother."

"You forget how the story ends, child. The sun and the moon never stopped loving each other and the connection they shared overcame all odds. The earth, touched by their devotion to each other, allowed them to meet in the sky in a strange moment of light and darkness."

"I still fail to see the relevance of this," the young woman sighed impatiently.

"They were a real couple, Awen. They were cursed to be apart forever, but through the connection they shared their love never wavered. Do not let your love waver, child. You will regret it if you do."

"You make it sound so easy," Awen grumbled.

"Easy," Nan laughed. "Love is never easy, Awen. If it was we'd go around batting our eyelashes at every man we see. We'd never get anywhere. Listen, when I first met your grandfather I thought he was arrogant and rude. He kept at it though and I finally gave into his requests before the man did himself in with puppy love. What I found was that he was a simple man beneath all his pompous posturing."

"You were always so happy," Awen said. "What if we aren't like that?"

"We were happy, true enough. But, damn if there weren't moments I wanted to hit the man upside his stubborn head. It all comes back to what I told you before, love. What is happiness without—"

"Having first known conflict," Awen sighed. "I know, I know. I just don't want this to be taken away from me."

"Unless you make a leap of faith there will never be anything to take away, little duck."

"You haven't called me that in years, Nan."

"Oh, I did. Just never out loud where you could hear me. I learned my lesson after the first time you berated me for treating you like a child."

"Nan," Awen whispered. "I don't mind if you call me little duck. Out loud, I mean."

"I wouldn't want you to feel like a child," Nan responded, eyes twinkling with hidden wisdom.

"I had it easy then, didn't I? You tried to tell me, but—"

"All children are in a hurry to grow up and you were no different. You lost innocence and gained responsibility, true enough, but you should never look back on those things with anything but hindsight. You cannot go back to that state of being and if you spend your life looking over your shoulder to see what has passed you will miss what is present and what is future."

"The future scares me, Nan."

"As it should," the old woman grunted. "Fear is a good thing, remember? Fear is what keeps us from stumbling around like drunken idiots and keeps us on the right path. Do you want to be a drunken idiot, my dear?"

"Not too keen on the idea, no."

"Then fear is healthy! It is only when you let your fear hinder your life that it becomes a force of darkness, child. Never forget that."

"Nan, I'm going to miss these little talks of ours."

"Going to? Does that mean you've decided?"

"I think I already had. I just needed you to help me figure out why."

Nan smiled, wiping away the tears that spilled across her cheeks.

"Bah," she growled defiantly. "None of this teary eyed rubbish, Awen. We still have time together and it isn't like you are going away forever, you know. Stop that crying."

"I'm not crying, Nan."

"Sure you are, little duck. Don't argue with your grandmother."

"Sorry," Awen laughed. "Floodgates have officially closed."

"Thank heavens," the woman exclaimed. "The last thing I need is a weepy child on my hands. I got enough of that from your grandfather."

"Oh Nan," Awen cried suddenly, hugging the old woman tightly. "I am going to miss you so much."

"I know," the woman replied, rubbing Awen's back like she had when she was little more than a babe in arms. "I'd miss me to, but you'll manage I think."

"Nan," Awen grumbled, pulling away from the safety of her arms as all children must. "Can't you be serious about anything?"

"Of course," the old woman sniffed. "I'm serious about a great many things, I'll have you know."

"Name one," Awen challenged.

"Carrots."

"What?"

"Open your ears for goodness sakes. I said carrots."

"You are serious about carrots?"

"Oh, absolutely. Carrots are a serious matter, child."

"Do tell, Nan. I long to hear your wisdom regarding the importance of carrots."

"No one likes a smart ass, dear."

"Must be why no one visits you for supper then."

The old woman cackled and slapped a palm against her thigh.

"That's the woman I love, little duck. You have been schooled well, I think."

"Only by the best, Nan. Now, stop flattering yourself, and tell me about the carrots."

"What about carrots?"

"Yes, supposedly carrots are a serious matter."

"Awen, don't be silly, child. Carrots are just carrots. Everybody knows that."

"And you say Papa was the difficult one."

"Oh, he had his hands full that was for sure. But he loved me for every second of it."

"You two were very lucky to find each other, Nan."

"Yes," Nan said quietly. "We were." She paused and took her granddaughter by the hands. "You will make him happy, Awen. And I believe he will do the same for you. That doesn't happen as often as you think. Many of us settle down because the idea of passing through this life alone is a daunting one. But, you have found love, child. Grab it and never let it go, you hear?"

"I do love him, Nan. I really, really do."


	4. The Kissing Hand

Merlin liked sleep. In fact, he liked it so much he felt he could stay asleep forever, but something always managed to get in his way. Normally, these interruptions would come in the form of painful nightmares which would make Merlin desperate to open his eyes, but every once in awhile they came in a different form. With the absence of terror, Merlin found himself rather headstrong when it came to remaining in his land of slumber and usually got his way.

This time, however, whatever it was that nagged at him was relentless in its pursuit to wake him. He groaned out a curse and tried to retreat to his manly cave of blankets, but found that he'd been stripped of his refuge and was left to face whatever monstrosity sought to overcome him with nothing at his disposal but sheer resistance.

Suddenly, the monster was kissing him and he was so shocked by the mere unpredictability of such a notion that he blearily opened his eyes to meet the kissing fiend. What he saw was not a monster at all, but a rather amused Fair Folk woman.

"Oh," he mumbled. "I thought…kissing monster…"

Merlin thought the sentence sounded intelligible to him, but apparently Awen did not agree. Her grin grew wider and her eyes twinkled with mirth.

"What about a kissing monster, Merlin?"

"Go away, kissing fiend," he groaned. "I will not be tempted."

He closed his eyes and squeezed them tight as if to prove to her that he would not be cowed by the woman's lippy prowess. She let him be and he celebrated his victory with a sleepy albeit satisfied smile. The effects of her dastardly plan became apparent to him moments later. She'd taken his manly cave of blankets and the air was anything but warm. All she would have to do is sit back and wait for the elements to do the work for her.

"I won't give up," he said to no one in particular, but her soft ring of laughter fueled his defiance.

Minutes later, he gave up.

"You're jealous," he ranted, rising from the bed to pull the fallen blankets around him. "You don't like the fact that I have a relationship with sleep, do you? Don't answer that, I know you don't. And instead of fighting like a man you sneak attack. Not impressed, Awen. Not impressed one bit."

"You are adorable, Myrddin."

He stopped and looked at her, eyes puffy from sleep. He rubbed at them and yawned then promptly sat back on the bed, blankets pulled in a tight cocoon around him.

"Don't patronize me," he grumbled, but he looked pleased. "What are you so happy about? If your smile gets any larger there won't be room for your face."

"Snarky," Awen laughed. "Not a morning person, I take it."

"It's midafternoon," Merlin pointed out. "Which most definitely makes it nap time for a certain warlock."

"I made my decision, Myrddin."

"Honestly, I don't ask for much, but between you and Arthur—wait, what?"

"I made my decision."

"Oh, well…what, uh, what is it?"

"It was a difficult choice, Merlin. I hope you understand that."

Merlin felt his stomach sink. He'd been so sure that she would return with him, but the regret in her voice was palpable.

"I do," he said emotionlessly lest he give his insecurity away.

"I wanted to come with you more than anything, but—"

"But?"

"It wasn't the right choice for me, Myrddin."

"Oh, I—"

"Merlin," the woman began, but he failed to hear the humor in her voice.

"No, it's alright. I understand. Of course, I understand. Why wouldn't I? You had a choice and you made it and I'm happy if you are—"

"Merlin, would you just—"

"It's fine, really. You don't have to explain, you know. I can handle it. I am a grown man, after all and honestly if—"

Suddenly she was kissing him and his words died in his throat. He pulled back after a moment and glared at her.

"You keep doing that," he said testily. "Stop it!"

"It seems to be the only sure fire way to shut you up," Awen laughed.

"Arthur will be thrilled," he replied drily. "You two should collaborate on ways to keep me from—"

She kissed him again, but when she stopped he didn't resume talking.

"You see," she whispered, grinning from ear to ear. "Works every time."

"From talking," he finished with a glare. "Take that, woman."

"I concede," Awen sighed playfully. "You were too much for me."

"Don't feel too bad," the warlock replied daintily. "Not everyone can be a master of witty barbs and verbal wordplay like myself." He frowned then pulled away from her. "You won't know what you're missing."

"I won't be missing anything, Merlin. You aren't leaving here without me."

"But," he stammered, jaw dropping. "You just said—"

"I was trying to be romantic, Merlin. I had the whole thing rehearsed in my head, you know. I was going to act like I'd chosen to stay and follow that up with the line of 'it wasn't the right choice for me', after which you would have either argued with me or accepted my decision gracefully. Either way I would have ended with 'it was the ONLY choice for me. But, you ruined my moment of glory with your sweet babblings of insanity, Myrddin."

"Um, sorry?"

"Oh, don't get me wrong. I love the babbles. They are perhaps my favorite thing about you, but I think there should be some sort of babble warning put in place so I know when to batten the hatches and prepare myself for a long voyage of Merlinesque ramblings."

"A babble warning?"

"Yes, Merlin, a babble warning. Perhaps you can click your tongue or something before you start. What do you think?"

"I think its doubtful, Awen. A babble isn't a babble if there is forewarning involved."

"A shame," she said, shaking her head. "A crying shame, but I suppose I'll have to make do with what I've got."

"Only if you want," Merlin said softly.

"Trust me," she replied, voice matching his volume perfectly. "I want nothing more."

"Have you told Nan about your decision?"

"She knows," Awen answered, a sad smile gracing her lips. "I will miss her horribly, Merlin. It has been the two of us against the world for so long now. It's hard to think of a life without her."

"Then don't," Merlin replied. "It doesn't have to be one way or the other does it?"

"I don't exactly know of anything that can traverse over such long distances let alone into another dimension, love."

"I'll figure something out, Awen. I promise you that."

"The sentiment is sweet, Myrddin, but the practicality—"

"I'm a warlock," Merlin snorted. "When have I ever cared about practicality? If you want practicality you are in the wrong hut, my dear. Go see Arthur. He's the practical one."

"I thought you said he was a philanthropist."

"Yes, a practical philanthropist. The two are not mutually exclusive, you know."

"Of course. What would the world be without a few practical philanthropists to spice things up?"

"A dull and dreary place to be sure."

Awen laughed and burrowed inside the blankets with him, drawing comfort in the soft rise and fall of his chest. Her fingers trailed down his hollow cheekbones and rested upon the black striations burrowed just beneath the surface of his skin. She felt him tense against her and she held very still until his body relaxed with a giant sigh.

"How are you doing," she asked quietly.

"Just dandy," he sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair tiredly. "I've got you, don't I?"

"Sweet, but not what I was asking and you know it."

"I'm well aware of what you were asking. I just wish I had a different answer for you than I do."

"I'm a big girl, Myrddin. I can handle it."

"I'm getting better physically," the young warlock said hesitantly. "But…I'm exhausted all the time, Awen. I know that Nan said it was to be expected, but it feels like all I do is sleep. And the nightmares have only gotten worse which makes me afraid to even try, but I can't even fight it most of the time. Even now I'm having a hard time keeping my eyes open."

"That will fade with time," Awen said soothingly. "As will the nightmares, but I'm going to be by your side to help you with that, you know."

"I know," the young man smiled. "I plan on it, Awen. Sleeping with you in my arms is certainly the highlight of my slumber filled days."

"Sweet Myrddin, you always know the right things to say to a girl."

"Thank my mother for that one. That woman can sweet talk her way out of almost anything."

"You've never mentioned your mother," Awen whispered. "What is she like?"

"Beautiful," Merlin said softly. "Inside and out, Awen. She's…she was everything I needed for a long time. We were a lot like you and Nan, I suppose. We only had each other to rely on and with my gifts being what they were I didn't make friends easily. She was my rock."

"And now?"

"She is my inspiration, of course."

"Your inspiration?"

"My mother has never once stopped believing in my ability to be a good man. She is so pure and kind hearted. I strive to be like her everyday."

"You sound like you miss her."

"I do," the young man said softly. "I haven't seen her in so long. She would love you, Awen. I doubt she would ever let you leave."

"She let you leave, didn't she?"

"Yes," Merlin said softly. "It was time, though. I loved Ealdor with all my heart, but everyone knew I was different. In a small place like Ealdor being different makes you noticeable and being noticeable can get you killed. She hated the idea that I had to hide so much of who I was and she knew I was miserable doing so."

"She must be an amazing woman, Myrddin."

"She is. You'll see soon enough. Once things settle down I will take you to see her if you'd like."

"I'd love that," Awen replied. "I'd love to see where you grew up to. Perhaps you can introduce me to all your previous conquests."

"Conquests? As in more than one? Ha. Trust me, I am nowhere near as suave as you think I am."

"But you admit that you have at least one previous relationship in Ealdor then?"

"We kissed once. It was horrible. I don't even remember her name as sad as that is."

"Why was it horrible, Myrddin? Did she bite your lip or something?"

"No," Merlin said, grimacing at the memory. "She giggled."

"She giggled?"

"It was rather disconcerting, I'll have you know. We'd go to kiss and she'd start laughing. I thought I might have something on my face, but no, apparently this was normal behavior for her."

"Well," Awen said smiling. "I can promise you one thing, Myrddin."

"Oh, and what would that be?"

"I will never giggle and kiss you at the same time."

"That's a relief then," Merlin grinned. "I'll try and give you the same courtesy." He paused and grimaced, before throwing back his head and laughing.

"What," Awen asked, surprised.

"Arthur," Merlin chortled. "His ribbing over me actually having a relationship is going to last for months. Maybe years."

"He seemed happy for you," Awen grinned.

"You talked to him," Merlin asked, cocking his head to the side in curiosity.

"I did. I wanted to ask him his permission for me to—"

"His permission," Merlin asked, expression darkening.

"Well, yes. It's his kingdom, isn't it? And I don't exactly fit because—"

"Because why," Merlin snapped. "Because you have magic? Is that what he said?"

"Merlin, no. Why are you so upset about this? I just thought it would be prudent to get his opinion on the matter."

"And if he'd said no?"

"He didn't, so it doesn't matter."

"It does matter, Awen. It matters a great deal."

"Why," Awen asked. "Why would it matter?"

"Because…because…I—"

"Myrddin, would you stop looking for reasons to be mad at him?"

"I'm not looking for reasons, Awen."

"Yes, you are. You don't really care that I talked to him. In fact, I think you are secretly relieved that I had the discussion with him instead of you. So what is this really about?"

"Can't you look into my mind and find out," Merlin asked gruffly.

Awen raised her eyebrows at him and said nothing. Merlin knew he was being difficult and he knew that Awen was the last person he should be taking his frustration and exhaustion out on, but he—well, he was ready to go home. He missed Camelot desperately and though Eryr Cadw was the most incredible place he'd ever seen it wasn't where he belonged. With his emotional state being what it was everyday he spent away from home was another day he spent close to the edge.

He felt raw and irritated, as if his nerves were sitting exposed on the surface of his skin and every touch was a throb of agony. With Awen the agony was dulled to a dim pain that was made bearable by his love for her. He knew, in time, that the agony would subside until, gods willing, it would disappear all together. Normally, he considered himself a patient man. He had to deal with Arthur on a daily basis, after all. But, with everything that had happened this past week all he wanted was for his ordeal to be over.

"I'm sorry," the young man sighed, burrowing his face into his hands. "I don't know why I acted like that. I'm just…I'm exhausted, Awen. I'm ready to go home."

"Then let's go," Awen said. "Tomorrow. Putting it off is obviously not doing us any good."

"But, you and Nan, I—"

"Myrddin, I am leaving with you one way or the other. The more time I spend thinking about it the harder it's going to be, so let's go."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely sure."

"Well, I—thank you, Awen."

"There is no need to thank me, love. And Merlin?"

"Yes?"

"You don't actually think I can just read your mind do you?"

"I don't know," the young man said quietly. "We've never really talked about your magic before. Which is fine, I suppose. I just don't really know what it entails. You were able to read me like an open book, but I didn't get that luxury. I only know the basics."

"Well, let me try to explain them to you," Awen replied, trying to think of the words to do so. "You are always there in my mind, Merlin. Your strength and spirit are a constant presence in my mind but that doesn't mean I know exactly what you are thinking. For most people I can only feel what they do which is creepy enough, believe me. It's like there is a shadow of their emotions hiding just behind my own."

"Sounds pleasant," Merlin grimaced.

"Sometimes it can be," Awen said with a soft smile. "The majority of the time, however, it can be disorienting to say the least. It's especially difficult when the emotion is particularly potent like rage or grief. It feels like I am suffocating and I have to shut them out."

"Shut them out? You can do that?"

"Yes, and it's a good thing to. If I couldn't I'm sure I would have gone insane by now."

"How does it work exactly?"

"I don't really know, Myrddin. You know how you can put your fingers in your ears to keep yourself from hearing? Well, it's sort of like that I suppose. I just…choose to not listen."

"Handy," Merlin grinned. "Very handy indeed."

"Oh yes," Awen agreed emphatically. "Handy is an understatement. With you though it's different. I can feel more than your emotions, Merlin, though I can feel those to if I chose to. What I feel with you is more than just a fragment here and there. It's all of you which sounds really mushy, but that is the only way I know to describe it. I know your hopes and your fears, your strengths and your weaknesses. So, I can't read your mind unless you willingly choose to communicate with me."

"I shouldn't have insinuated that you would," Merlin whispered. "I was angry, Awen."

"Why? Anger isn't like you, Myrddin. I know that for a fact, you know. It's all in my head."

"Anger is easier," the warlock whispered, shuddering in his blankets.

The Fair Folk woman pulled him close to her and he kissed the top of her head appreciatively. He closed his eyes against the wave of emotion that crashed through him and she felt her hand tighten around his own.

"Why is anger easier," Awen asked, caressing his hand in soothing circles.

"You said you felt like you were suffocating," Merlin whispered, closing his eyes and allowing the feel of her at his side wash over him in comforting waves. "It's the same for me, but instead of being a shadow of someone else's pain it's all mine. Anger cancels it all out in a way. Being angry at Arthur makes it easier for me to be around him because being scared of him…it hurts, Awen. I hate it more than anything, but I can't help it."

"Anger isn't making it better, Myrddin. You have to see that."

"I do, but I'm—"

"Exhausted," Awen finished for him. "You know, this whole time I've been thinking you meant physically, but you its more than that, isn't it?"

"Yes," Merlin replied. "There's no doubt I am on my last leg physically, but my mind—my magic which I've always correlated directly with my soul—it's spent so long fighting against the darkness that it just can't fight anymore. I almost don't want to."

"Myrddin, you know how I said I hate mushy stuff?"

"Ummm…yes, I do, but I don't see how—"

"I'm going to say something mushy to you, Merlin, and I want you to promise you aren't going to hold it against me."

"Alright. Mush to your hearts content, Awen. I won't say a word."

"Good," Awen whispered, taking the young man's head in her hands. "Myrddin, you don't have to fight anymore because…well, because I'll fight for you, alright? When it becomes too much for you I want to share your burden. You don't have to hold the weight of it all on your shoulders. I love you, Merlin, Myrddin, Emrys whoever you are. I love you with all my heart and I am never going to let you fall, you understand? Never."

Merlin was quiet for a long time, letting the woman's words sink in. He had spent so long dealing with his fears and failures and pain on his own that it wasn't easy to simply let go of them all and share them with another person, no matter how much he loved them. Could he do it? Could he just let it all go?

Merlin didn't think he could have with anyone else, but with Awen it seemed possible. In fact, the need to let her in filled him with a desperate fire so strong that it nearly brought him to tears. He turned to her and gently cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand.

"Only you," he said hoarsely. "I've never let anyone else in like this, Awen. Only you."

He kissed her then, more fiercely then he ever had before. He pushed all the emotion in his heart into their moment of passion, crushing her to him like if he didn't hold on tightly she would be taken away from him. He pulled back gasping and before he knew what was happening he was sobbing uncontrollably, pouring out all the fear, pain, and guilt through his tears.

The Fair Folk woman held him close as he cried trailing tapered fingers down his shoulders and whispering soothing words of the Old Tongue in his ear. He shuddered and shook, but for once didn't feel mortified by his show of emotion. If anything he felt a great weight slip from his shoulders and by the time he was done he felt better than he had since the beginning of his nightmare.

Merlin remained motionless in her arms at peace within her grasp. He felt the gentle caress of sleep and his eyes began to close, but he forced them open in order to remain awake for a little longer.

"Awen," he rasped, throat raw from his sobs.

"Yes, Myrddin," the Fair Folk woman whispered as she continued her soothing ministrations.

"I just wanted to tell you…the comment you made? Extremely mushy."

"Merlin," Awen gasped, but he could tell she was smiling. "You promised not to say anything."

"I know," the warlock whispered. "I couldn't help myself."

"You are awful," Awen laughed. "Absolutely awful."

"Awen?"

"Yes, Myrddin."

"Thank you."

His eyes slid closed and he fell into a deep sleep, the feel of Awen's body next to his own following him into his dreams.


End file.
